


Gill Maintenance

by MissTeaVee



Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mikes are fish clooones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Late night, Nova’s corridors are dark and quiet, everyone catching all the shut eye they can, unless sleeplessness forces them to wander. Oscar Mike wouldn’t mind sleep, but he needs privacy in the showers, and this is the only time he can get it. He needs to clean his gills, but the universe is conspiring against him.This is timed before the Rogues, LLC, Eldrid or Jennerit groups joined up with Ghalt, so you’ve only got the other peacekeepers onboard. So timing: bit before Ghalt flipped the double bird to the UPR I’d say.Tumblr import





	Gill Maintenance

Oscar Mike stepped into the washroom and glanced around, listening to be sure that the communal showers were completely empty. Once confident, he locked the door behind him. Against UPR protocol, but hey, wasn’t likely anyone else would come in this late. He put a boot up on the bench and started to undo it, bobbing his head to an internal beat. Off came the boots, leaving him in his under armour and his helmet. He hesitated again, then scooted into one of the shower stalls, which had a private little space for changing if you were modest, something he had always been grateful to take advantage of.

“No damn mirrors in here….” He grunted to himself in frustration, removing his helmet. Wishing for the nth time that the wash racks had individual mirrors in the private change rooms, he grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, and deposited it neatly on the small bench. Then came the pants and underclothes. “Heh.. probably ‘cause Benedict would never leave the shower stalls if there were.” Naked, the clone stepped into the shower to rinse off. He jumped when Nova’s voice came on over the speaker.

“Attention to whoever is in the showers at two in the morning, we are still on water restrictions and the door to the communal showers is locked, a direct violation of UPR protocols.”

Crap.

“Look Nova! Everyone else is asleep, so who gives a sh*t if I locked the door! Maybe I value my privacy! And I need to take a damn shower to clean my gills!”

“Oscar Mike has  _gills_! Now this I have to see!” Nova squealed gleefully. Mike groaned, leaning on the shower wall, grateful that the washroom didn’t have security cameras.

“Hell f*cking no. Lemme have my damn shower, my gills are sticking!” Moodily he snatched up a small bottle, labelled ‘gill oil’ from his pants’ pocket.

There was a pause, then Nova spoke again. “Very well, however, I must unlock the door, per UPR protocol.”

 _F*ck_. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Mike grunted, not having the energy to argue with the AI. No one else was likely to show up anyway. He turned on the water and stood under the warm spray, swatting his fingers through his bristled hair briefly. He dropped his head back and rotated his neck a little, trying to unstick his upper gills. The lower gills on his chest felt fine; they were a lot easier to maintain, but Mike decided to tend to them too while he had his oil on hand anyway. He filled his mouth with water, and inhaled it, gagging a little at the sensation of water flooding his lungs. Then he pinched his nostrils shut and tried to forcibly exhale. The act forced his chest gills open, and the water in his lungs started to drain away. Massaging his throat, the clone scowled, finding that his upper gills were still sealed shut. He tried again, this time completely filling his lungs with water before purging them, and clamping his wrists hard against his chest and pressing his face to the wall to close all other airways.

The unstick hurt like hell, but he felt the pressure suddenly give way and water mist over his shoulders. Relieved, Oscar Mike turned off the shower and stretched in the stall, flexing his throat and fanning his gills until he was reasonably certain his airways were clear of fluid. He dripped a little bit of oil onto the fingers of his right hand, and then hooked them under the highest of his left three chest gills. The bottle was put down and he meticulously massaged the slick grease into the gill filaments, brushing his fingers against the bony gill arch now and then. The process was repeated with the other two gill slits on his left side, and then he turned on the shower again briefly to rinse his hand. Then he put the oil on his left hand and tended his right gills, humming all the while.

The sensation of his gills moving freely when he flexed his body was highly enjoyable, and Mike became engrossed in what he was doing, loosing track of time. Once satisfied that his torso was done, Oscar Mike cautiously stepped to the edge of the private booth and stuck his head past the curtain, double and triple-checking that no one had entered the washroom. Absently, he patted his gill covers as if checking that they were closed up again (they were) and then retreated back into the shower to put his pants back on.

After several long moments of hesitation, the RDC clone paced across the washroom to the large mirror that rested behind the sinks and leaned on the countertop, putting his oil within arm’s reach and fishing for something in his pocket as he turned his head to and fro to inspect his reflection critically. He found what he was looking for -a small penlight- and put that down beside the oil.

The issue with the gills on his neck was that they were rather different from the structure of his chest gills. He didn’t know all the complicated scientific details, or why it was so, but he did know that throat-gills required more care and focus than chest ones. And that meant watching what he was doing in the mirror… in a public wash rack. Mike hated being so bare in public; it was too much of a risk of being seen without his helmet. But he’d put off tending his throat gills too long; the slight swelling and discolouration at the edges of his gill covers was proof of that, though the swollen, dehydrated feeling in his throat was a much more frustrating indicator.

“Dammit Mike, you gotta take better care of yourself,” He muttered, starting on his right side this time, working the pinky finger of his right hand under a slit and gently running it along the tip of the gill filaments there. It was a bit ticklish, but only exacerbated the dry feeling. He turned his head again, trying to look at the left side of his neck, something difficult when he was missing that eye. It was a problem he’d struggled with for years; once upon a time, there’d been a friend-a fellow clone- who helped him with his gills after he lost the ability to see what he was doing on the left side, but nowadays, he was on his own with the endeavour. He managed to brush a finger under the left side to check for anything caught under the delicate structures, hissing slightly when he accidently scraped a fingernail against the rough spines inside his gill arch.

Satisfied that there was nothing stuck to the gill rakes, (Pepperoni had a nasty tendency to do it, for whatever reason, but pizza was still worth it.) Mike grabbed the bottle of oil and went to squeeze some onto his fingers. It sputtered and gave him a couple drops.

 _Sh*t._  “F*ck!” Mike swore, shaking the bottle violently. There was no way he was out of the stuff already! He got a couple more drops, but it just wasn’t enough. Groaning in frustration, Mike scrubbed his hands across his face, contemplating his options. This was his last bottle! And there wasn’t anyone else on board who would have the stuff! He should have done his throat gills first, the chest gills woulda been fine for a few days without a good oiling. Okay, did he have anything he could substitute, he’d used, and heard of, several substitutes that would work alright for a bit if you were desperate. There was gun oil, he supposed, the nausea and constant aftertaste that would come with such a choice was still better than swollen, sticky gills.

Frustrated almost to the point of tears, Mike Leaned on the washroom counter, trying to think of what to do. Maybe he could call Montana! Montana was his bro, and he knew what the clone trooper looked like under his helmet, so there wouldn’t be any unpleasantness! Yeah, that’s what he’d do, Montana could help; maybe he had something that was like gill oil, or knew about something that’d work. Or he could just bring a bottle of gun oil down to the washrooms.

“Nova!” He exclaimed. “Can you call up Montana for me?”

“Oscar Mike it is two thirty in the morning,” The AI replied in a tone of assumed exhaustion. “Is it an  _emergency_?”

“Yeah, it is!” Said Mike, then he paused. Montana probably needed his sleep, he’d taken a bad hit the day before. Suddenly, waking his best bro seemed cruel and unfair. “Uhm… Is there.. anyone awake right now?” He asked, a bit meek. If she said no, he’d shove his helmet on and run to the armoury for gun oil.

Nova’s sigh of exasperation was enhanced by a burst of static. “Presently, Captain Ghalt is awake and in the Bridge, shall I put a line between you and him.”

“Oh… uhm.. great… Sure?” Said Mike, flinching.  _Well… damn._

___

“Sir, Shooty McCriesalot wants to talk to you over comm.”

Ghalt looked up from his console and frowned. “What?”

“Oscar Mike’s in the showers about to have another ugly cry and he wants to talk to you.”

Ghalt’s frown deepened. Was something wrong? Why in the name of Solus was Oscar Mike in the showers so late at night? Was he injured? No, he couldn’t be, Mike was rather… odd at times, but he was a fantastic soldier and had proven very responsible as far as injury and reporting for medical treatment went.

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Maybe a spider bit him.”

“That’s enough Nova, you’ve picked on the poor guy enough for a year at least, patch him through.”

“Mmmm fine.” There was a clip of static and Ghalt leaned over his console.

“Mike? Nova says you needed to talk to me.”

“Uh wellllll, I mean you’re the only person awake now so maybe you can help?”

Mike sounded… uncomfortable, but not in heavy distress, or as Nova put it, ‘about to ugly cry again.’ That was a relief. Ghalt had barely managed to shut down her broadcasting the last incident. Poor Oscar Mike would have been an absolute wreck if he know even a few moments of his rant had been heard. “If I can help, I will, what’s the issue?”

“Uhm.. I’m out of Gill oil.”

“Gill oil?” Ghalt tried to understand what the hell that was. “And this is an emergency?”

“Well I mean, sorta, ‘cause My gills are turning red and I need to oil ‘em but I don’t have any!”

“Wait- hold up. Mike, you have gills? Like, you’re a fish?”

“Uuuuuugh, yes, yes, I am a fish, but have no fins!” Mike sounded highly frustrated and annoyed, snarling at the comm. “Big glowy eyes and gills. That’s me!”

Ghalt cleared his throat. Sensitive topic, apparently. “Well man, I don’t have any of the stuff you need, I don’t have gills.”

“Uh yeah… I know, I was.. kinda hoping you had some gun grease or something… it works… okay.”

“GUN GREASE! Mike! You can’t put that crap in your body!” Ghalt exclaimed, appalled.

“Well it works, alright! And it sucks less than letting my gills get hard.”

Ghalt slapped his console, scowling. “Anything else that would work Mike?”

“Uhhh… well any gun oil or grease, but that Galahader-ic,” Oscar Mike pronounced the word with careful deliberation. “Stuff stings the least.”

“I’ll see what I can do, you wanna sit tight for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure…” Said Mike. Ghalt cut the connection and turned back to his screen.

“Nova, lookup ‘RDC gill oil’ and see what it’s made of and what medically suitable substitutes we might give Oscar Mike instead of him letting him poison himself.”

“Gill Oil’ is a suspended mix of oils and moisturizers meant specifically for the Rapid Deployment Clones, manufactured by the UPR,” Nova recited dutifully. “It was designed after it became noted that the clones -spliced off the last known member of the Galahadrim species- expressed extreme discomfort and symptoms of dehydration even when provided with ample water to drink. It was agreed that these symptoms reduced the efficiency of the clones, and the oil was produced and mass-shipped out to RDC units to combat the problem. It was based off a line of medical/beauty products meant for species like the Akoposians.”

“Right. What can be used as a substitute?” Asked Ghalt.

“Tests showed that RDC clones allowed to float or rest in water for an hour daily did not require gill oil to maintain proper gill function and comfort.”

“F*ck,” Ghalt grunted. “I don’t think we could spare the water for a daily bath, but that’s not fair to Oscar Mike, anything else?”

“RDC clones have been commonly recorded using weapon oils in an emergency, as it is the most accessible replacement to them. However, personal lubricant, medical lubricant,some brands of moisturizers, and many types of cooking oil are all health acceptable replacements. However they all require more frequent re-application.”

“Well, it’ll work for now, Nova, put in a requisition for a case of the stuff for Mike, make sure he knows to request a fresh one when he gets down to the last bottle from now on. Now, put me through to him real quick.”

“Alright.”

“Mike!” Ghalt said cheerfully to the comm. “No gun oil for you, We’ve got some eldrid cooking oils that’ll work better for you, and I’ve told Nova to request a case of your gill oil for you, hopefully we’ll get a supply within the week.”

“Sounds great, thanks! Uh… cooking oil?”

“Hold tight and I’ll bring it to you, still in the washroom, champ?”

“Sure am… uhm.. I’ll be in the shower.” The RDC trooper sounded even more uncomfortable than before if possible, but Ghalt walked out of the bridge and went for the mess hall, snagging a fresh bottle of oil and then heading for the showers. He stepped in and glanced around, noticing the boots by the door, then looking around and spotting a few items on the counter in front of the mirror.

“Mike?”

A curtain rustled and Ghalt caught one yellow eye peering at him from around the curtain of one of the private change booths. The curtain rustled a bit more and Mike stuck his arm out in Ghalt’s direction. “Found something? That’s great! I didn’t know you could use that stuff.”

“Yeah, here you go.” Ghalt put the bottle in Mike’s hand. “Do you need any help or anything?”

“No!” Mike almost shouted, retreating into the shower. “Sorry, I uh… no, really… it’s kinda personal. Plus you know… the whole thing where if you see my face your head’ll catch fire.”

“How could I forget, that was in your personnel log.” Said Ghalt, pinching his nose and trying not to laugh.

“Really!?” The yellow eye peeked out again briefly.

“It was.”

“Cool.” The eye retreated again. Ghalt waited a few seconds, then Mike peeked out again. “Uh… thanks Cap.”

“No problem Mike, don’t make a habit of it.” Ghalt shook his head and left the rest room, noticing that he didn’t hear the water turn on behind him.

__

Oscar Mike waited until the door shut behind the Captain, and then he waited a little longer, just in case. Finally certain he was alone, the clone slipped out from behind the curtain and approached the mirror again, clasping the bottle of vegetable oil to his chest. Well, it wasn’t gun grease, so it was a step up. He let it spill across his hand and leaned over, squinting at his reflection, lifting one gill cover and carefully working his fingers in, finding that he needed a lot of oil. He glanced at the size of the bottle, and then began to liberally rub it into his gill filaments. It only took him a few minutes to be done his right side, and he checked in the mirror to see that there was an even beading of oil under each gill slit as he pressed down on top of them.

He paused, walking to the washroom door and dimming the lights until he could just barely see in the room, then returned to the mirror. Then he turned slightly, picking up his pen light and turning it on. He had a lot of trouble telling when his left gills were done properly due to his missing eye, but he’d learned a little trick from another two-eyed clone. He stuck the light in his mouth, clamping it between his teeth and closed his lips around it, blocking out the light.

When he lifted the lowest gill cover on his left side, he could see diffused light shining dully off the filaments and delicate skin underneath. When the flesh reflected more brightly, he’d know he was done without having to press in close to see, as well as being able to tell where his gill rakes were without accidently poking them. Even so, having to stay so leaned back from the mirror made it a painstaking process. Gradually, he finished each gill slit and finally he leaned back, dabbing at the oil with a cloth, then pressing his gills down to check for a clean bead.

He was satisfied with what he saw, and his gills were already feeling way less achey than they had been when he started. Happy, he gathered up his things and washed his hands one last time before getting dressed. Once his clothes and Helmet were in place, he made a straight beeline for his room, hoping to get some rest before yet another day of blowing crap up for the good of the universe.


End file.
